


rincorrere il vento

by silkspectred



Series: almeno tu [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Time, Grief/Mourning, Injury, Internalized Biphobia, M/M, Minor Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Nightmares, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-26 11:33:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14401284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silkspectred/pseuds/silkspectred
Summary: They go out a couple of times. They spend some time together in the compound, sparring and playing video games and watching old movies, and they’re just friends, you know? They’re just. Just friends.





	rincorrere il vento

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cptxrogers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cptxrogers/gifts).



> So, this is another _almeno tu nell'universo_ tie-in fic. You don't need to read that to understand this fic but it would probably help. I wrote this fic because George / cptxrogers loved this ship and I wanted to explore how something like that would go. I hope you guys like this and I hope you like it, George!
> 
> Thanks [tones](https://twitter.com/ironmantrilogy) for beta

**Before**

It all starts with a Beyoncé concert Sam wanted to drag Steve to—half as joke because it didn’t really seem like Steve’s thing, and half as Sam’s ongoing and possibly hopeless ‘you need to get out of the compound and see the world’ mission.

Of course, something comes up at the last minute and Steve can’t go anymore. He apologizes and leaves in a hurry, shield strapped to his back while he mutters “I’m coming, Tony, calm down,” into the comms. Sam looks at him go and scoffs, fondly. When he turns around, Rhodey is there, trying to pretend he hasn’t heard the whole conversation.

“You interested?” Sam asks, waving the tickets in his hand.

“I don’t have a death wish. I’m not gonna steal Captain America’s boyfriend,” Rhodey deadpans, but it’s not really a joke.

“Way off base, man.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Sam says, and Rhodey’s face does something weird, like surprise and maybe relief.

“Then you know what?” Rhodey says, tilting his head. “I am interested.”

“Meet you in the hall at 6? We can grab some food on the way there.”

“It’s like you read my mind, Wilson.”

***

They hit it off immediately. Rhodey is secretly pleased to realize that Cap or not, Sam isn’t straight.

Sam, for his part, seems determined to understand how Rhodey feels about this ( _them_ ) but he’s not aggressive—he lingers when he touches him, stares at his lips for a little longer than normal, laughs at all of Rhodey’s jokes, even the ones that aren’t that funny. But nothing else happens.

They go out a couple of times. They spend some time together in the compound, sparring and playing video games and watching old movies, and they’re just friends, you know? They’re just. Just friends.

Even though Rhodey always comes out of the gym half-hard after sparring with Sam and can’t quite hide the thrill running down his back whenever Sam looks at him and smiles, quiet and sweet. Even though whenever Sam touches him he doesn’t know if he wants to curl up against him or bolt out of the door.

But Rhodey has thought about this. By the fourth time they go out rolls around, Rhodey has thought about this.

He’s got this.

He straightens his tie.

He takes off his tie. What the hell is he thinking.

They’re not dating but it’s more than a friendship, and Rhodey is terrified and amazed that after all these years of trying to keep this thing inside himself ( _I swear I’m straight, Tony, come on, just quit it, your gaydar isn’t infallible_ ), all it took was Sam Wilson’s stupid smile to make him give up the act.

He’s nervous. He’s a brave man, but this isn’t what he’s used to fighting.

There’s a knock at his door, and Tony pushes it open before Rhodey invites him in.

He looks at the mess of clothes on the bed, and shakes his head, walking to the closet and scrutinizing its contents carefully, moving stuff around until he can fish out Rhodey’s bottle green silk shirt.

His favorite shirt.

“It’s too elegant,” he protests immediately.

“You wanted to wear a tie two minutes ago. Besides, if you pair it off with jeans it’ll be fine. Comfort clothes, honey bear. They’re important in these situations, trust me.”

He doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t comment on the fact that Sam is a man, he doesn’t say, _weren’t you supposed to be straight?_ He doesn’t say, _did you lie to me all these years?_

He doesn’t say it, because there’s no need to say it. Maybe Tony really knew all along. It just took Rhodey some thirty-odd years to catch up on it.

Still, he says, “We’re not dating. It’s not a date.”

Tony doesn’t reply. He looks at the floor for a bit, hands clasped behind the small of his back. Then, he gives Rhodey a deep, serious look, pats his cheek with one hand and lingers on his face a few seconds more than Rhodey expected him to.

And leaves.

***

“So you’re _not_ dating?” Steve asks, doubtful, sweating all over Sam’s couch since he came straight from the gym.

“Nah. We’re just hanging out.”

Sam put a condom in his wallet and has a packet of lube in the inside pocket of his jacket.

“But you’re choosing your outfit. You like him.”

“Listen, I just… I don’t wanna think about it this much, you mind?”

He doesn’t want to talk about it with Steve. He doesn’t want to think about what it means, the way he feels about Rhodey.

Because it’s not a big deal. And he knows Steve is gonna make a big deal out of it and there’s no reason, because it’s not a big deal. It’s just, they’re friends. Maybe they’ll fuck tonight, maybe not. It will just be casual and normal and not a big deal and Sam won’t think about Riley at all. Not even once.

It will be what it will be. Simple. Friends, maybe sex. Just sex. Just friends.

He won’t feel like he’s betraying anyone. Because he won’t be.

“No, of course. I’m just saying, I’m happy for you. Whatever you choose to do.”

Sam laughs at how solemn Steve sounds, but he’s also touched. “Okay, okay. Thanks. Now go pester Stark; I still have to shave. You’re making me late.”

***

Sam pushes him up against his door and leans in, sneaking a hand inside his jacket to clutch at his hip. The touch sends something electric through Rhodey’s spine, and he feels it like a burn on his skin, even through the silk, even after Sam has moved his hand to the small of his back.

He looks past Sam, at the dark room, at a pair of shoes he forgot to put back in the closet earlier that night. His mind clouds with the image for a moment, and in the blink of an eye he relives half his life, like people say they do when they’re about to die.

He closes his eyes and remembers clumsy kisses in the bathrooms at school, the first time he had sex and came in ten seconds; then becoming more sure of himself, getting better at it. He thinks about his few relationships, the ones that didn’t last and the one that meant the most to him—Carol’s beautiful blonde hair on his chest, her muscled body underneath his hands, her smooth skin against his. Her brash sense of humor, her straightforward kindness, her compassion. The way she said _I have to do this on my own_ right before entering rehab, even though Rhodey would’ve stuck with her through hell and back if she just asked.

He thinks about the gnawing feeling that he forgot a part of himself this whole time, that he chose to ignore it and not investigate it further, that he pretended he didn’t even know what it was.

But he does know.

Rhodey opens his eyes and Sam is there, a bit taller than him, solid and real and beautiful. He places a hand on the door, next to Rhodey’s head, and then looks at him and smirks and leans in and Rhodey’s knees almost buckle by how much he wants this, how much he wants Sam.

He feels pinned in place and exposed and suddenly he realizes that he’s tired and old and he’s about to have something he has dreamed about in secret for years, decades, it’s just there for him to seize it, but somehow taking the last step and reaching for it is harder than denying this part of himself for his entire life.

Sam doesn’t pick up on any of that.

Sam kisses him, soft but confident.

Rhodey feels Sam’s goatee scratch his chin, and he can’t help moaning, deep in his throat, while Sam licks the seam of his lips and coaxes him into opening his mouth.

He jolts when Sam’s tongue touches his.

He’s kept this thing inside himself for so long. This force, this weight. He’s not sure how to handle it, now that he has let it go. He’s not sure all of it is gone.

He doesn’t know what to do with his hands so he lets them hover in mid-air, awkwardly. He kisses back but he can feel that it’s stilted and unsure, and Sam must be feeling it too because he pulls back.

“I read this all wrong, didn’t I?” he asks, a kind smile on his face, like it’s not a big deal if he has, like that kiss didn’t pierce through Rhodey’s soul and made him new.

Rhodey shakes his head and covers his mouth with his hand for a moment. “No. No, you didn’t.”

“Then…?”

“It’s my first time. With a man. And I’m…” he trails off. He doesn’t know what to say. This is so stupid. He’s fifty years old, and he—

“Okay,” Sam says, and god, his voice is so kind. Rhodey almost wishes it wasn’t, that he’d laugh at him, mock him, anything.

“I—”

“You wanna do this?” Sam asks, and he sounds less careful now, even though it’s just been a few seconds since he last spoke. “Fear aside. You want it?”

Rhodey lifts his gaze to look into Sam’s eyes. “Yeah,” he says.

Sam kisses him again.

It’s not tentative, this time. It’s hard and demanding; it sends goosebumps all over Rhodey’s skin. He feels Sam press his body against his, grind his hips into his, dick hard and warm already, and Rhodey is sure that he wants it. Wants Sam, all of him.

They undress, quick and messy, throwing clothes and shoes and socks around the room. Sam retrieves a condom and lube from his jacket, sets them on the bed, and he must notice Rhodey eye them dubiously, because when he straddles his hips, naked and wonderful, he forces him to turn his head and look at him.

“Talk to me,” he says.

“Could we…” Rhodey starts, without a single clue on how to finish. He lowers his gaze and he sees Sam’s chest, smooth except for a couple of scars.

“You can do me,” Sam says, and it would sound harsh to anyone else, but it isn’t—dirty words spoken with utmost sincerity often turn into something sweet.

“Can we take it easy? Easier?” he asks, staring at Sam’s collarbone.

Sam makes him lift his chin up with a finger and kisses him again. “We can do anything you want, babe.”

Rhodey is speechless for a moment, then he breathes out a soft “Fuck,” and rests his forehead against Sam’s chest, hears his heart racing and wonders if Sam is just better than him at hiding how overwhelmed he is.

He reaches across the bed and takes the packet of lube, rips it open with his teeth. He takes Sam’s dick in his hand and watches him move, slowly fucking into Rhodey’s fist and…

For a while, the only thing Rhodey can do is stare.

Sam pushes him down on the bed, and stretches out on top of him, smears lube in his hand and reaches between them.

Rhodey cups the back of Sam’s head and guides him into another kiss, until Sam groans above him and whispers, “‘M close.”

“Me too,” he says, “don’t stop,” and slides a hand down the back of Sam’s body to caress his ass. With his other hand, still a bit slick from before, he makes his way between Sam’s cheeks, rubs at his hole and pushes the tip of his finger inside.

“Mmh,” Sam moans, biting his lip, and his grip tightens around their dicks. His pace speeds up and it builds up and up and up and Rhodey looks at Sam’s face, Sam’s closed eyes, Sam’s mouth, Sam’s nose, and he comes, just seconds before Sam buries his face into Rhodey’s neck and comes too with a muffled groan.

Rhodey holds Sam through the aftershock that makes him tremble for minutes, and maybe this is proof of how really affected Sam is by what they did, despite trying to play it cool.

Sam gets up and cleans them both with a washcloth. He touches Rhodey’s dick like it’s a treasure, bends down to kiss it across the slit when it softens, sending another shiver through Rhodey’s body.

“Stay,” Rhodey says, sleepy and happy, and Sam curls up against his ribs under the covers, lets Rhodey stroke his back with his hand.

Right before falling asleep, Rhodey thinks that he might be fifty years old, but a new part of his life only just started.

***

Sam wakes up the next morning in the exact same position he fell asleep in, the arm tucked under his body all pins and needles. He stirs, and hears Rhodey suck in a sharp breath and wake up.

Sam gets up to get water; his throat is dry. His foot lands on the condom he brought; it must have fallen from the bed during the night. He sets it on the bedside table.

“You don’t have to leave,” Rhodey says, watching him as he walks, naked, across the room.

“Good, ‘cause I don’t wanna.”

He gets a bottle of water from the fridge and drinks half of it. He offers the rest to Rhodey, who accepts it with a small smile on his face.

Sam crawls back under the covers while Rhodey sets the empty bottle on his bedside table, and then turns to stare at Sam, his black eyes serious and unafraid.

There’s a beat, a moment between them in which the silence becomes heavier.

“Wha—” Sam tries to ask, but can’t, because Rhodey’s mouth is on his, and he’s being pinned down on the bed with a vicious kiss that makes him feel like everything has been dialed up to eleven, like every sensation is suddenly so strong that he can barely handle it.

He thought he had this. He thought he was gonna be cool about this, that everything would be easy, no problem. He thought they’d have a date even though they’re just friends, really, since they never said they were anything more, and then Sam would make his move, because they could be friends with benefits and because Rhodey would expect it by now, for sure, and he thought that they’d have amazing sex and—

Which, sure, yeah. Basically, it went like that. But also it kinda didn’t, and Sam was caught by surprise.

Because Rhodey shivered under his mouth, against the door, and he said, _It’s my first time,_ and then, _with a man_ , and Sam was so not ready for the way his heart skipped a beat after that—but he couldn’t let Rhodey down in that moment, he just couldn’t.

It had been a while since Sam had had sex that tender, that had made so many emotions rush to the surface of his skin and give him goosebumps. He wasn’t a teenager anymore, it wasn’t supposed… he wasn’t supposed to fall in l—

Damn.

Rhodey brings him back to reality by pushing the duvet away and sliding down his body, settling between his thighs. He presses his face into Sam’s pubic hair, next to his hardening dick, and inhales, long and deep.

“What do you think?” he asks, a laugh bubbling in his chest and taking away all the worry from a minute ago.

“It smells amazing. You…” He licks it at the base, then uses his hand to bring Sam’s balls up and into his mouth. He sucks on them, delicate and still experimenting.

“So. Way more willing to try new things in the morning, huh?” Sam teases, and when Rhodey doesn’t reply he adds, “The offer from last night still stands… if you got any lube.”

Rhodey stops licking at him. “I do. Drawer.”

Sam passes him the bottle and the condom, and Rhodey works his cheeks to make saliva pool on his tongue, taking Sam into his mouth while he presses into him with slick fingers.

Sam relaxes, and lets Rhodey take control of everything, so he can go at his own pace and keep the stress at bay. He asks things once in a while, not about the basic mechanics of it—he’s got that—but about Sam’s preferences. Sam just shrugs and lets him decide.

“I just want to know how you like it. This is about you, after all.”

“Is it now?” Sam says, and Rhodey just smiles at him, a flash of vulnerability lighting up his face.

Soon, Sam doesn’t think about that anymore—he’s being fucked into the mattress without mercy, and kissed by lips that taste like his own come, and it’s the first time that doing this with someone that’s not Riley doesn’t feel like cheating.

***

“You mind if we keep this under wraps? Just for a little while.”

Rhodey isn’t sure why he says it, why something forces him to push out the words even through all the happiness, the sudden feeling of freedom, and the fact that maybe Steve and Tony already know what’s going on between them.

He just wants this thing to be his for a bit. He knows how Tony will react if he tells him; he’d be happy and cheerful and pat his shoulders and smile and maybe throw a party. He wouldn’t do any of that if Rhodey asked, but Rhodey imagines Tony looking at him with resigned eyes and saying, _if that’s what you and Sam want, platypus_ , and he just—

So he asks Sam.

And maybe Sam knows what it means to have a friend you love with everything you’ve got, sometimes maybe more than you love yourself (and to be loved back like that, too) and it’s not their fault, of course, they can’t help who they are, but they’re larger than life and take up so much space in your existence already and you love them, of course you do, they’re your best friend—but you want this to be just yours for a moment.

Only just yours. For a moment.

Sam shakes his head, once. “I don’t mind.”

***

Sam throws food at the birds in the park behind the compound, and watches them scuffle for it, unaware that there’s enough for all of them.

He’s always loved feeding the birds; it calms him down. But for a few weeks now, it’s been the opposite.

It seems stupid admitting it, even to himself, but he feels as if he’s been always capable of reading something in the birds, in the way they move and fly, in the patterns they draw on the ground and in the sky.

And lately, he’s felt like they’ve been warning him that something bad is going to happen, something that he’ll have a hard time stomaching.

Maybe it’s just guilt playing tricks on him. For the mission in Lagos.

Rhodey sits next to him quietly and kisses him. He leans to the side to rest his head on Sam’s shoulder.

“Tony’s gonna bring Secretary Ross here later today. Says he needs to talk with us about something important.”

“Alright,” Sam says, still looking at the birds—and the bad feeling, if possible, gets worse.

* * *

 

**During**

“Secretary Ross has a Congressional Medal of Honour, which is one more than you have.”

“So let’s say we agree to this thing. How long is it gonna be before they LoJack us like a bunch of common criminals?”

“117 countries want to sign this. 117, Sam, and you’re just like, _no, that’s cool. We got it._ ”

“How long are you going to play both sides?”

***

The way Rhodey falls is both a flashback and a new nightmare all wrapped up together in a bow of horror that makes Sam’s stomach lurch.

There’s an initial moment of disbelief, because it’s impossible that this is happening _again._ How could this possibly be happening again?

The moment he realizes that Rhodey’s been hit and is falling, Sam nosedives towards him as fast as he can.

The only thing he can think is, _catch him._

_Catch him, catch him, catch him._

But he isn’t fast enough, and Stark isn’t either.

“I’m sorry,” he says, but Stark isn’t having it. When he hits the ground, right before passing out, Sam thinks that he deserves it, whatever Stark wants to lay on him. Worse, Sam thinks that it should have been him, making a hole in the ground.

He comes to just in time to watch as the paramedics haul the gurney on the ambulance. Rhodey’s on it, the War Machine armor in pieces on the grass.

“See you there in a minute, honey bear,” Tony says in a soft voice Sam has never heard from him. He steps out of the ambulance and lets the suit enfold him like a glove.

Days later, in the Raft, it’s the memory of those words, spoken so gently, that makes Sam decide to trust Tony.

He’s Rhodey’s best friend. Steve is desperately in love with him.

That has to mean something.

* * *

 

**After**

Rhodey wakes up to Tony touching his face.

He feels cold sweat covering his skin, damping his t-shirt, droplets of it rolling across his shoulders when he tries to sit up and sending a shiver down his spine, but not much further.

Tony holds his hand.

“Hey, platypus. It was just a bad dream, right? Look,” he says, gesturing to the dark room, voice warm and quiet, “you’re safe and sound.”

He glances out of the window. It’s raining, and the noise soothes him only a certain amount.

He whimpers, the last flash of the dream disintegrating deep into his mind.

_I’m flying dead stick, Tony._

“You want me to stay?” Tony asks, dark circles around his eyes and a softness in there too, something that was never there before.

They have always been friends, since day one. Tony has always been his best friend. But what happened (Rhodey’s fall, Tony’s heartbreak—both literal and not) shifted things a bit, just so. Just so that everything is sharper, louder, _more._

More hugs, more touching, more times holding each other’s hand in the dead of night, more times sleeping in the same bed because leaving was unbearable.

More _I love you_ ’s, because they almost lost each other, because they had never said it before and it never felt right, and maybe they just needed an excuse to start.

It doesn’t become anything that it wasn’t before; it doesn’t change in that sense. It’s still the same, but it reaches deeper.

“If you don’t mind,” he says, knowing that Tony doesn’t.

***

It’s someone else falling in Sam’s nightmares now, but the effect is pretty much the same as it used to be: he wakes up trying to scream but unable to, he’s sweaty all over, his heart is racing, and sometimes there are tears on his face.

What’s different, is Steve’s presence.

It’s steady and stoic and natural. Steve wears his own pain on his face, plain to see to anyone who can read it, but maybe these days only Sam really can. The skin around Steve’s eyes is dark and puffy, and Sam didn’t even know that was possible.

“You okay?” Steve asks, sitting on the bed.

Sam rests a hand on the nape of Steve’s neck. “You need to sleep, man.”

“Wanna play that videogame you like? The one with the dragons?” Steve asks as if Sam hasn’t said anything.

“Yeah,” he replies, and kicks the sheets away.

***

“I’m gonna go to Italy. I need to—”

“Of course.”

“You gonna be alright, on your own?”

“I’m not on my own, Tones. Happy is gonna be back soon, and Pepper will bring Peter by. I won’t be alone.”

“I think I’m gonna miss you, honey bear.”

He ruffles Tony’s hair. “Shut up.”

***

“T’Challa said he’s going to Italy. Something about his mother. I wanna go.”

“Steve, are you nuts? After everything we did, you wanna go and meet him there, while he’s, I don’t know, going on a journey of self-discovery and trying to reconnect with the soul of his dead mother or whatever the fuck else? Do you want the guy to actually murder you?”

“I have to try. I have to do something, Sam, I…” Steve shuts his eyes, his face a mask of anguish. “I love—”

Sam gathers him into a hug. “I know, man. I know. Good luck.”

It’s all he can say.

***

Rhodey’s hands shake just before the plane lifts off. Natasha squeezes the one closer to her and smiles at him in that way she does, where Rhodey can never tell if it is quite as sincere as she wants to make it look.

She falls asleep with her head on his shoulder while they watch a movie.

He thinks about Sam for most of the flight.

***

The line clicks and Sam’s heart stutters in his chest when he hears Rhodey suck in a breath through the phone.

“Hi.”

Sam can’t reply for a moment. All he can think about is the way Rhodey used to smile at him right after sex, the taste of his mouth the first time he kissed him, the scent of Sam’s own sweat on Rhodey’s sheets.

The hole he made hitting the ground.

Sam shuts his eyes, shame burning hot in his throat. “Hey,” he says.

 _How are you_ , he wants to ask, but he doesn’t know how welcome the question would be and if he deserves to know anyway.

“How are you?” Rhodey asks, and Sam doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or hit his head on a wall.

“I’m okay,” he says, and pauses. “You?” he adds, because there’s no way he can avoid asking now.

“I’m okay. You know. All things considered.”

_All things considered._

“Yeah…” Sam says, waiting for guilt to stop squeezing his heart. “Yeah... listen. I wanted to say that… fuck. I’m sorry. I wanted to say that I’m sorry and that there’s no way I can ever make it up to you, I know, but I just… I didn’t want… didn’t mean to… It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be me. I’m sorry.”

“Sam. It was an accident.”

“Yes, but I still… This was a huge mess, and I wanted to… apologize, because I feel—”

“It’s fine, Sam.”

“What? F—fine, fine, how do you mean, fine?”

“I mean, this wasn’t really your fault, let’s be real here.”

“Whose—”

“If you just stopped following him around like a dog for a minute, maybe you could realize—”

“What the fuck are you—”

“Steve. I’m talking about St—”

“Yeah, I got that, asshole. And maybe you could make this little speech to your best friend too since he’s the one who’s—”

“Tony has nothing to do with this and you keep his name out of your—”

“Don’t you dare patronize me like this—”

“So I have to listen to any bullshit you spew about Tony but the minute I tell it how it is about Steve you flip? The hell’s wrong with you. With all of you. Just snap out of it.”

“Go to hell, Rhodes.”

“Yeah, you almost sent me there, Wilson.”

The line clicks dead, and Sam throws his phone on the bed.

***

Rhodey waits half an hour and calls back. He waits for Sam to pick up, pressing the phone to his ear and chewing on his lip while he looks at a screen with the exploded view of Barnes’ arm. His back aches, so he sits down.

“I’m sorry,” he says before Sam can say anything else. “I’m sorry. I’m mad at Steve. I’m glad he’s maybe patching things up with Tony—that’s for Tony to decide—but I’m still mad at Steve for what he did, and I’m mad at you too even though I know it was an accident, and we just gotta suck it up and wait it out.”

Sam inhales for a long time. “Okay,” he sighs in the end. “I just wanna say, this isn’t on Steve. I’m his friend, but every decision I made, I made on my own.”

After that, things are easier. They don’t scream, at least. They don’t insult each other or each other’s friends.

It’s easier, but still weird. It’s gonna be weird for a while.

***

Talking with Steve makes things better and worse at the same time. He needs comfort, encouragement, and Sam is always eager to give them to him, but there’s also a small part of Sam that’s envious. Steve doesn’t say much, and what he says may not seem promising, but his tone speaks volumes to Sam in a way that isn’t as true for anyone else, maybe not even Bucky.

Okay, _maybe_ Bucky.

It’s going to be fine for Steve and Tony. It’s gonna be.

He’s not so sure about himself, though.

That night, before bed, he sends a goodnight text to Rhodey, and he replies—even though it’s 4 a.m. in Wakanda—with two emojis, a blushy face and the moon. And Sam feels a little less hopeless.

***

Sam texts a lot. And calls.

Rhodey listens to Sam’s voice rant about a movie he went to see and didn’t like, and thinks that he’s in love with him.

And he can’t throw it away—throw away all this love—because of an accident that wasn’t anybody’s fault, really.  

***

Days go by.

Steve and Tony come back from Italy. Steve moves into Tony’s room.

“We can’t really sleep otherwise,” he says blushing, because he realizes that it’s sappy and maybe a little unhealthy. But it’s all so new for them. They’ll settle, eventually.

Sam looks at them, and while things aren’t always perfect, they stick together. Sometimes, when Sam could swear they’re about to start fighting, one of them draws the other close, and they start whispering into each other’s ear. It takes Sam about a week to realize that it’s their way to handle disagreement.

Uh. Some method.

But Sam doesn’t want to judge. Anything that puts that smile on Steve’s face, that makes Tony so serene? He’s okay with it.

***

“Thank you,” Bucky tells him, “and thank Tony again when you see him. For everything.”

He’s finally got used to the arm, and Rhodey has helped him work out all the kinks. Bucky will stay in Wakanda with Nat for a couple more months, so he can keep working on his memories with BARF. It’s doing him good.

But Rhodey can go back home. He can’t wait.

***

Rhodey hugs Tony for _minutes._

Sam watches them from one of the upstairs windows of the compound, Steve next to him, back pressed to the glass, eyes trained on the potted plant decorating the corridor.

“Wanna—”

“Yeah. Whatever it is, yeah.”

He’ll wait for Rhodey to come find him when he’s ready. But he needs a distraction in the meantime.

***

He lets a few days pass. The compound isn’t big, but there are many ways to avoid someone you don’t want to see, and the minute Rhodey realizes what he’s doing he mentally kicks his own ass and forces himself to stop.

He sits on the bench in the park, waiting. Sam should be here any minute; he likes feeding the birds first thing in the morning.

He hears him walk behind him, feet heavy on the grass. He stops to an abrupt halt when he spots Rhodey.

“I don’t bite. Promise,” Rhodey says without turning around. A minute later, Sam sits next to him.

He’s very nervous. Sam, that is. His butt barely touches the bench, like he’s ready to run any minute now.

“Welcome back,” he says, and Rhodey’s about to reply _thank you_ but—

A ray of sunshine catches in Sam’s eyes, he squints and shifts from under it, moving even further away. He looks at the birds so he doesn’t have to look at Rhodey.

“You really gonna be like this?” Rhodey asks, quietly, tone even as though he’s talking about nothing important.

Sam turns to look at him, sharp movements and sharp eyes.

“No…” he says, and his gaze moves down to Rhodey’s chest, his lap, his thighs. “Fuck, no. No.”

Sam twists his body on the bench, stretches his neck, and kisses him.

Rhodey expects something slow, tender. He expects Sam to thread carefully around him, to touch him as tough he’s gonna break any minute now.

But Sam has been a surprise since day one, and today is no different.

Sam’s kiss is demanding, intense, almost harsh in how unapologetic it is. He urges Rhodey to part his lips, licking into his mouth and making him moan at the back of his throat.

It’s aggressive and a little desperate, and Rhodey fists Sam’s shirt and brings him closer, pulling him across his lap, and Sam almost straddles him and grinds down on him a bit and—

Someone clears their throat.

Rhodey opens his eyes and can’t see anyone, but the expression of horror on Sam’s face tells him that whoever is interrupting them is behind Rhodey.

“I should report you both to HR.” Tony. Of course it’s Tony. Rhodey feels his face stretch with an unplanned smile. “This is inappropriate workplace behavior.”

“We don’t have HR,” Rhodey replies, turning his head around.

“Should fix that.”

“What are you doing up so early? And in the armor?”

“Got muffins for Steve. There’s this bakery in Brooklyn? I don’t know.” He waves a paper bag in his direction as an explanation.

“Oh man, what happened to lazy morning sex?”

“Wilson, you’re making out on a _bench_. I’m not so sure you’ve got room to talk.”

Sam scoffs, but there’s no venom in it.

Tony walks closer, bends down to rest his elbows on the back of the bench. He kisses Rhodey’s cheek, then looks at Sam.

“I’m not gonna give you the shovel talk. Just… just treat him right. He deserves it.”

Sam nods.

“Anyway,” Tony continues, “I don’t wanna kill the mood but you guys have stuff to do today.”

“God, I hate Google Calendar.”

“Don’t we all, Wilson,” Tony says, hovering in mid air. “Waiting for you in the gym, honey bear!” he shouts then, and takes off.

Sam gives him a look.

“We should go.”

“We should.”

“Another minute?”

“Yeah.”

Sam kisses him again.

***

Another couple of weeks go by, but Rhodey isn’t avoiding him now.

It’s just that they really, really, _really_ have so much shit to do. There’s so many documentation to read, so many things to sign and memorize and understand and give an opinion on. Who the hell thought that being an Avenger meant having to deal with so much paperwork?

But Tony wants to do things right this time. Steve too.

They need to do things right this time.

He argues with Tony for five hours over an amendment of an amendment of an amendment of the new Accords. It’s complicated, but they find a compromise, and Sam sleeps better that night. The next day, Vision states that the compromise they reached contradicts another part of the Accords, and they’re back to square one.

It’s exhausting.

But Sam catches Rhodey looking at him from the other side of the gym, from the other end of the conference room table, from the side of the training room. He looks back and Steve almost kicks him straight in the face while they’re sparring.

He’s distracted. Worse, he’s tired. He feels alone, aching to fill his loneliness with Rhodey. He sees him every morning for about ten-minutes; they cuddle together on the bench outside the compound, sharing kisses and coffee and sometimes the muffin Tony brings them.

But it’s at night that it gets bad. When it’s been an entire day without Rhodey’s arm on his shoulders, when there are hours to go until he can have that again. Those are the worst moments, and he tries to do something else, anything, but he can’t concentrate, and he just… he just wants Rhodey.

It’s still growing inside him, this thing he feels for Rhodey. Sometimes he still surprises himself trying to fight it. He still feels like he’s not allowed this.

But he is.

He is, because Riley is dead, he’s been dead for years, and he won’t come back to Sam, he will never, ever come back to Sam, and loving someone else doesn’t mean that Sam didn’t love _him_ , and Sam knows that. He really knows that.

He takes Riley’s dog tags out of the drawer, touches his name with his fingertips and thinks about the first time they kissed.

“I love you, little falcon,” he says into his hand, and it feels like saying _goodbye_ , like being able to, somehow, after all these years.

He falls asleep with the chain wrapped around his hand. When he wakes up in the morning, he kisses Riley’s name etched in the metal, puts the tags back in his bedside table, and starts getting dressed to go meet Rhodey on their bench.

***

They make it to the other side of it all: they finally have a version of the Accords they all agree upon, they stick together through a few very strategic interviews, and somehow they don’t completely screw up the hearing with Ross.

The Avengers are back.

More or less. Half of them are still scattered around the world. Some, on other worlds. But they have a little party that night, and when it’s time to go to bed Sam says, “I’ll walk you to your room,” and then comes inside with Rhodey, and doesn’t leave.

Rhodey is pushed down on the bed like that first night, and this time he flops on it a little more ungracefully, a little bit heavier, but if Sam notices he doesn’t say.

He teaches him how to unlatch the braces. The pants, Sam can figure out on his own.

In what feels like only a handful of seconds, Rhodey is naked and panting, and there’s Sam pressing on top of him, smooth and solid and perfect. There’s so much skin to touch, miles and miles and miles of beautiful muscle to caress and worship with hands too impatient to not be a bit clumsy.

Sam travels down his body, leaving kisses on his way, and Rhodey anticipates the moment he’ll reach his stomach, now that he has acquired a higher sensitivity there. It’s not uncommon after an injury such as his.

When it happens, Rhodey still hisses in surprise, and then his mouth goes slack in pleasure while Sam brushes a hand across his abdomen. It makes him groan, the way Sam touches him, and when he feels himself being swallowed into Sam’s hot mouth he goes silent and still, and savors each moment of it like a gift.

He touches Sam’s head when he feels like he can’t handle more. Sam crawls back up his body to kiss him, and there are so many unsaid promises into it.

Sam gets up for a moment to get the lube from Rhodey’s drawer.

“Wanna watch me do it?” he asks, and Rhodey swallows and nods while he pushes himself up on his arms, resting his back against the headboard.

Sam straddles his legs, but faces away from him, bending down on all fours and not doing anything for a while, allowing Rhodey to simply look.

It’s so beautiful. Sam is—he’s beautiful.  

Rhodey reaches out with a hand, squeezes Sam’s cheeks and even slaps one, not too hard. The whimper Sam lets out at that is something Rhodey is sure he’ll never be able to forget, like the little breathy laugh that follows.

Sam slicks up his fingers, and reaches behind to work himself open, slowly, making it a spectacle for Rhodey, who watches it all, enthralled.

He gets lost in it, in the regular motion of Sam’s hand. He sways forward and presses his face to Sam’s ass, to the side, so he can look at his hole fighting the stretch of Sam’s fingers. He kisses his skin there, licks it, nips at it and makes Sam jolt in surprise, the sensation as welcome as it is unexpected.

“Fuck, J—James…”

He never calls him James. Only sometimes. Only when he wants to say something else, but can’t.

Rhodey knows how hard it can be, to let those three words out. Maybe he has different reasons, but he’s familiar with this fear.

Rhodey searches the bed for the lube, and soon he’s pressing his own finger next to Sam’s, into Sam. Sam chokes on a groan and his breath becomes unsteady when Rhodey uses his other hand to caress his perineum, his balls, until he reaches his cock and circles it loosely, caresses its length, presses a finger down on the slit.

“I need you, Sam. Right now. I need you so bad.”

Sam doesn’t reply. He moves, and Rhodey lets him go, waits for Sam to straddle him again but this time they’re face to face.

“Quick,” Sam says, squeezing lube on Rhodey’s dick. The cold makes him gasp, but just for a second, because the moment Sam starts sinking down on him, engulfing him in his warmth, there’s nothing else.

The only thing that matters is how hot Sam’s body is, how good it feels to kiss him, to hear him moan. There’s only this, a lifelong dream that became true in the best possible way, better than anything Rhodey could have ever hoped or imagined.

The feeling catches in his heart for a moment, making itself suddenly manifest.

“I love you,” he says, without really having planned to.

A terrible sound is wrenched out of Sam.

“You don’t have to say it back,” Rhodey hastens to say, “Don’t… you don’t have to—”

“James—”

And it’s as though he said it back.

“I know, babe. I know.”

Sam covers his heart with a fist, squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head while he grits his teeth. Rhodey would think he was in physical pain if he didn’t know better.

“It’s not fair,” Sam says, still tortured by every word that spills out of his lips. “It’s not fair to you. And to me. It’s only fair to him, but I know he wouldn’t want me to… so it’s unfair to him, too. To everyone.”

“Oh, Sam,” Rhodey says, and simply hugs him tight.

Sam kisses him, and he taste a bit like tears. He starts moving, slowly, rolling his hips in such a regular pace that Rhodey is left impressed with it. He lowers his gaze to Sam’s lap, to watch his abs working, the muscles of his thighs flexing under this beautiful effort.

“If I don’t do this… it’s like I’m gone too, and—”

Rhodey touches the side of his neck.

“Sam. There’s time. We’ve got time.”

“I thought I had time with him too. I thought I’d never see you drop from the sky.”

And Rhodey can’t reply to that. His throat seizes up in an ugly way in response to a pain he can’t fully understand, but it reminds him of those three months he spent turning over every rock in the desert in the wild hope to find someone that was family to him, to find him still alive.

Sam kisses him again and starts moving faster in his lap, and Rhodey feels his orgasm building up—it’s the same sensation of taking off in the suit, that same flip of his stomach, that thrill between his shoulder blades.

“I still feel it. Even if you don’t say it,” he murmurs against Sam’s mouth. He feels him nod, just once, and they’re both tipped over the edge.

“It feels like flying, being with you,” Sam says later, while he’s falling asleep next to him.

It’s not those three words, maybe, but it’s a declaration nonetheless, Rhodey thinks.

***

A few months later, when the sky is purple with fear and terror, Sam says it.

He cups Rhodey’s face with his hand, presses his forehead against his, closes his eyes for just a moment.

It took this, for him to get over himself. It took facing the risk of missing the chance to ever be able to say it.

Sam couldn’t live like that, but more importantly, he couldn’t die like that.

“I love you,” he says, looking hard into Rhodey’s eyes. “I love you,” he repeats, and Rhodey nods, and kisses him, and Sam flies away while the War Machine armor snaps into place all around Rhodey.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from the song "Amore che vieni, amore che vai" by Fabrizio De Andrè. It means something like "chasing after the wind" which I thought was a nice image for Sam and Rhodey. 
> 
> Leave me a comment if you can! <3
> 
> On [tumblr](http://silkspectred.tumblr.com/post/173234580660)  
> On [twitter](https://twitter.com/starkspectre/status/988508081230360576)


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